It's a Baker Street thing
by SnazzyPiLock
Summary: John finds Sherlock in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the stairs. He's not dead, but his condition could be critical. John acts fast and Sherlock is taken to hospital. John then finds out Sherlock has been working on a case behind his back, and John tries to find out what it is.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hey y'all! This is my second attempt at a proper fanfiction, I lost the thread of the first one, so so sorry for those who used to read it. This one, I hope, I will stay determined and focussed, and might actually finish! Especially if I get enough good reviews and feedback. Also, I don't always have a fixed 'what happens next', so please, feel free to comment and tell me what you think might be great to happen! You never know, I may really like your idea and use in in here! _**

**_Thank you so much for reading! _**

**_SnazzyPiLock_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them! _**

**Chapter One**

Sherlock fell through the door of 221B Baker Street, blood coated his hands and forehead. His breath was raspy as he called out. ''John?'' He croaked. A hand grasped for the wall, feet dragged themselves to the stairs. A bloody handprint smeared across the wallpaper. Sherlock's legs gave out and he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. ''John...'' he called out again, before falling into unconsciousness.

Opening the apartment door, John was pulling on his coat. Sherlock had been gone too long, it was worrying him. John frowned; it was cold on the landing, as if there was a window or a door open. He got to the top of the stairs and looked down. What he saw caused him to draw a sharp intake of breath. He ran down the stairs, being careful not to tread on Sherlock's outstretched fingers. ''Sherlock?'' He said, kneeling down beside him and gently shaking his shoulder. No response. Panic flooded through him when he noticed all the blood. _How long has he been there? Why didn't he hear him come in?_ John put two fingers to Sherlock's throat. A faint pulse could just about be felt. Faint, but there. Relief peeked through the worry for a moment. John moved Sherlock so he was no longer lying on his front. On seeing the bloodied forehead, he gasped again. A gash ran along Sherlock's wavy hairline. John bit his lip. He rarely saw Sherlock so vulnerable. Pulling his phone from his pocket, John dialled 999.

''This is 999, which emergency service d-''

''Ambulance.'' John almost shouted.

''What is your emergency and where and who are you?''

''My friend is unconscious; he's cut his head, and bleeding badly. His pulse is weak. I'm at 221B Baker Street. My name is John Watson. Please, hurry.'' He breathed in a shaky breath.

''We shall be with you as soon as possible, hang on in there.''

''Thank you.'' John hung up. _Oh Sherlock, stay with me._ John looked down at Sherlock, but a gasp from the top of the stairs caused him to look up again. Mrs Hudson had a hand over her mouth, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. She walked down the stairs slowly, her other hand on the banister, steadying her. She shook her head, tears falling now.

''He's not...is he?'' She whispered. John shook his head, reaching a hand out to guide Mrs Hudson round Sherlock's unresponsive body. She took it, and knelt down next to John. John's arm went round her shoulders, holding her close.

''What happened?'' She asked, quietly. John shrugged sadly.

''I don't know. I found him like this a few minutes ago. The ambulance is on its way.'' As if on cue, a paramedic came through the already open door.

''John Watson?'' He said, John stood up, helping Mrs Hudson to her feet as well.

''Yes, my friend...'' Turned slightly, indicating to Sherlock. The paramedic nodded, another one came through the door, a stretcher under his arm, a yellow emergency kit over his shoulder. The first paramedic took the emergency kit off his colleagues shoulder, and his breathing kit off his own. Kneeling down in John's vacated spot, he placed the mask on Sherlock's face, and tested for his pulse.

''It's very faint, he needs treatment, _now._'' He said to the other paramedic.

After they'd set Sherlock on the stretcher and then in the ambulance, Mrs Hudson and John in the back too. They left 221B Baker Street for the hospital. The paramedic was tending to Sherlock's forehead injury. They soon arrived at the hospital and Sherlock was taken in.

''Please, let me come in with hi-'' John started.

''You need to stay here in the waiting room, sir.''

''But I'm a doctor, I can he-''

''I'm afraid not, sir, you need to leave him to the surgeons and doctors who work here.''

''But he's my friend...''

''I understand. We will keep you informed.'' John's shoulders sagged, and he sat in one of the waiting room chairs, Mrs Hudson sat beside him.

An hour later, a doctor in a white overcoat came through the doors into the waiting room. Looking round, he called out ''John Watson?'' John stood up hurriedly.

''Here. Right here.'' The doctor walked over. ''How's Sherlock?'' John asked.

''He's stable; we've stitched his forehead up, and cleaned him. He's lost a lot of blood, so he's undergoing a transfusion as we speak. He woke up five minutes ago, and was asking for you. If you'd like to follow me I can take you to him.'' John nodded, offering his arm to Mrs Hudson he followed the doctor. After a few corridors, the doctor opened a door to a private room. Sherlock turned his head slowly, he smiled slightly when he saw who it was.

''John...Mrs Hudson...'' He rasped out. The doctor moved forward to plump up Sherlock's pillows for him to sit up slightly. She smiled at him, and turned to John.

''If you need anything, press the red button by his headboard there.'' She smiled again and left the room.

''Sherlock...'' John whispered. ''What happened?''

''I got into some...gang trouble...they attacked from behind...I didn't...see them...stupid...''

''Sherlock...what were you doing near them anyway?''

''I got a lead...''

''For what case? We haven't had a case for so long.''

''I have.''

''And you didn't tell me?''

''It was...confidential.''

''Confidential or not, we tell each other about any case we get, Sherlock, I-''

''John,'' Mrs Hudson laid a hand on his arm, a warning tone in her voice. John hung his head. ''Sherlock, how do you feel?'' She looked at him, worry clear in her voice. Sherlock sighed.

''I feel fine...Mrs Hudson...I shall be out of here...once they've finished...feeding me blood...and I'll be...right as rain...I need to be...after all...I haven't solved...the case.''

''Sherlock, you are not going back to work for quite some time. Not on my watch.'' John was firm. _I can't let him just go out and get nearly killed again. I could have stopped him. Gone with him. Prevented this. _Sherlock looked at him, his stare cold and hard. Typical Sherlock, even with blood loss and a head injury.

They stayed at the hospital for another two hours while Sherlock's transfusion was going on. When it had finished, the doctor told him he was to take it steady, and rest a lot for the next few days. _Like that's going to happen when he's on a 'case'. _John thought grimly to himself. John helped Sherlock out of the bed, and steadied him when he staggered slightly.

''I'm alright, John.'' Sherlock said, shaking off John's hand. He strode out the door and down the corridor.

''Sherlock...'' John called out. ''This way.'' He motioned the opposite way down the corridor. Sherlock turned and walked down the right way, and out of the hospital.

''Where's your car?'' Sherlock snapped. Glancing at John, then around the car park.

''At home, we all had a lovely ride in an ambulance.'' John said, equally snappy.

''you didn't think to let Mrs Hudson ride in the ambulance and you take the car so we could get home?'' Sherlock looked genuinely shocked.

''When your best friend is lying in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the stairs, and his pulse is very faint, you tend to only think of the now. So no, I didn't think that, but quite frankly I wasn't going to leave Mrs Hudson alone in there while you could be dying. I wanted to be there if you did die, not in the car behind only to hear when we arrived!'' John's face was red, his voice had raised, Sherlock was looking at the floor, and people had been turning to stare. Mrs Hudson was looking at them both sadly.

"I wouldn't have died, John." Sherlock said quietly. He walked over to the nearby taxi bay and hailed a cab. Mrs Hudson got in behind Sherlock, but John stayed outside.

"You go ahead, I'll walk. I need to clear my head." John shut the door to the cab and stepped back, allowing the taxi to leave. He walked down the car park and out the gate, the taxi disappearing rapidly. He walked slowly, and took a different way to the taxi. He wasn't going home; he was going to Scotland Yard.

_**How was that? Please let me know what you think of it, the good reviews will be my motivation! **_

_**Thanks again for reading!**_

_**SnazzyPiLock **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys! Thanks to the positive reviewers in the last chapter! I would just like to say that with school and everything, I won't be updating nearly as often as I would like to. But bare with me, you'll get updates every so often. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, I'm just borrowing them!**_

**Chapter two**

"Watson!" A familiar voice echoed down the hall at him. Greg Lestrade was striding towards him. "John, what's wrong?" he asked, noticing John's stricken face. John recounted all that had happened, and then said; "he said he'd been working on some confidential case, one that he hadn't told me anything about. If he had...maybe I could have stopped him going out, or gone with him and prevented the attack. But he never told me anything...I didn't even see him working on the case, whenever I looked he was doing experiments or updating his blog." John sighed, and looked at Greg.

"Did you know anything of this case?" Greg stalled, hesitant.

"I...no I didn't...I...he had a case?!" His stunned face would have been funny had it been under different circumstances. John nodded. _Even if Lestrade does know anything, he isn't going to tell me. _John thought bitterly.

"Well, I hope he's alright." Lestrade said, "And tell him if he needs anything for the case, I'm only too happy to help." John nodded again, turned, and walked out of Scotland yard. _A fat load of use that was._ As he exited the building, his mind lost in thought, he didn't see the man coming in. Well, not until he walked straight into him.

"Hey!" an indignant voice called. John looked up, surprised, and then gaped. The guy's eyes were a vibrant green, most unnatural, but that wasn't the thing that caught his eyes the most. The pupils were slits, like a cat's. John blinked, and suddenly his eyes were a normal green, with normal pupils. John rubbed his own eyes.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I...wasn't looking." He attempted a polite smile, but it seemed he'd forgotten how to.

"No, no, don't worry. You alright, mate, you look a bit shaken?" He asked. John just looked at him.

"I...no, not really. I need a strong tea and a flatmate who tells me things." The guy looked confused. "Sorry, you don't need to know that." The guy laughed shortly, and then held out a hand.

"I'm sure I recognise you from somewhere, I'm Barty Smith." John took Barty's hand and shook it.

"John Watson, I'm not sure I've ever met you so-"

"John Watson! Yes, a friend of mine, Sherlock Holmes, has a picture of you on his mantle, I asked who it was, he said your name, you're his brother, but, you died in action, in Afghanistan, this doesn't make any sense." John looked at Barty agape.

"You...you've been to my house?" He asked, a slightly sharper tone to his voice than he intended.

"Your house? Sherlock said he lived alone with your mother. In fact, I met your mother. But, _you're supposed to be dead!_" Barty said, shock resonating in his voice. _My mother?! I'm supposed to be dead?! What had Sherlock done this time?!_

"I'm sorry, but I live with Sherlock, and our housekeeper lives in the flat below us. My mother doesn't live with us at all. I didn't die in action, I am very much alive. I don't know why Sherlock told you all of this. Look, are you in a hurry or can you spare time to come to Baker Street with me, and we can sort this out." John gestured towards the cab bay. Barty looked shifty.

"Sherlock said I was never to come back to his unless I'd been invited by him. I don't think I should."

"Nonsense. I live there too, I'm free to come and go as I please and bring with me whomever I like. So please, join me." John saw the hesitance in his eyes and sighed. "Look, I've had a shit day so far and I just want something to go my way. So please, I shall ask again, join me?" Barty looked slightly startled at John's outburst, and nodded.

"Okay, I'm sorry to have agrivate-"

"No, no, I'm sorry for being so blunt." John turned and hailed a cab. "221B Baker Street, please." The cab driver nodded, John and Barty got in, and they set off.

"So, Sherlock doesn't tell you stuff?" Barty asked. The question surprised John.

"What?" He asked, still not managing to keep a hold of his bluntness.

"You said you needed a strong tea and a flatmate who tells you things. I remember things like that." He smiled. John sighed.

"Normally we work on cases together, you probably know he's a consulting detective," Barty nodded. "I found out he'd been working on a confidential case that didn't involve me. He didn't even tell me about it. Just kept me in the dark about it all."

"Oh." Was all Barty said, before turning to look out the window of his window. John sighed again, and then turned to look out of his own. The rest of the journey passed in silence. When they arrived, John paid the driver, and got out. He checked Barty was behind him before walking up to the front door and opening it. Mrs Hudson was out in the hall with a duster, she looked round as the door opened.

"Oh John, there yo- oh, hello again." She said to them. "Sherlock's upstairs, Barty, John, a word." Barty nodded and started up the stairs, his eyes catching sight of the bloody handprint on the wall. He didn't say anything about it, but it was obvious how much he wanted to. When Barty was safely out of ear shot, Mrs Hudson turned to John.

"The young gentlman, Barty, he...Sherlock has had him over quite a lot, always when you were out. It's probably to do with the case, but he thinks your Sherlock's brother, and I'm your mother. He also thinks you're dead. You've told him otherwise?" John nodded.

"Yes, he recognised me from the picture on the mantel piece upstairs. I walked into him coming out of Scotland Yard. We got talking, he told me that, he was very much surprised when I told him I wasn't dead, and so I told him he needed to come here and so we can sort this out. Sherlock needs to talk to me."

"Hmm, yes, I understand. Okay, well, they're upstairs." Mrs Hudson smiled and went back to her dusting. John climbed the stairs and walked into the open door of their apartment.

"Sherlock, brother dear, aren't you glad to see me back from the dead, mother certainly was." John snapped, as Sherlock looked his way.

"Yes, I am." Sherlock said simply. "I believe you've met Barty." Anger boiled up inside John. _Trust him to be so insufferable about all this._

"Sherlock!" John shouted his fists balled. "Would you mind telling me what the f**k is going on!" Sherlock looked at John, his head slightly to one side. He got up from his armchair, and walked into the kitchen. John followed him.

"So I'm walking out of Scotland yard when I walk into Barty-"

"Careless."

"-I walk into Barty. Apologies are exchanged and he says he recognises me. I know for a fact that I have never seen this man in my life and try to persuade him otherwise. Names are then exchanged and he realises where he recognises me from, and that I'm apparently supposed to be dead, you're supposed to be my brother, and Mrs Hudson is supposed to be my mother! What the hell, Sherlock?!" John breaths deeply. Sherlock leans against the counter; his hands pressed together, fingers touching his lips.

"It was for the case." John glared at Sherlock. "I couldn't tell him you were alive, he'd think I was going behind your back."

"You were, Sherlock, you were!"

"Yes, but I didn't need him to know that. John, I have my reasons."

"I need to know, Sherlock! You can't just expect me to accept you're working behind my back on a 'confidential' case, that's just not how I role. You should know that, Sherlock." Sherlock nodded slowly.

"I do. Do you think I want to be working on this alone? Do you think I don't value your judgment, and companionship? John, if I wanted to be working alone, I would have told you about this case a long time ago, and told you I couldn't work with you." He massaged his forehead, and then stood up straight. "I'm bound by confidentiality on this one, John! I simply cannot tell you about it." John frowned.

"Have you been cursed so you can't speak of it to me or something?" Sherlock's chin dropped slightly. "Christ, I was only joking, Sherlock! But seriously, you could tell me what it's about, and I'll promise not to get-"

"No! John, I can't! You don't get it. You can't get it." Sherlock shook his head.

"Fine. Fine, I won't ask. You won't tell. But I will ask, why when I bumped into Barty did I look up to see to vivid green cat eyes looking back at me?"

"Because you're short John." Sherlock said quietly, before walking out of the kitchen. John leaned back against the counter. He could hear quiet talking from the lounge. Walking towards the door, he stayed out of sight but listened in.

"-I didn't know he was going to bump into me, Sherlock." Barty was saying.

"You were in a public place, don't you always keep them hidden?" Sherlock said, his tone dangerous.

"Normally, but I was tired, I couldn't be bothered."

"You'll get in trouble if you don't hide them."

"I can pass them off for contacts, Sherlock. Loads of people do it."

"Yes, loads of teenagers in cosplay. Sure, are you going to dress up as Magnus from that teenager book, now?"

"What? No! Sherlock, I can handle my own eyes!" John turned away from the door and got a mug from the cupboard noisily; he then put the kettle on and made himself a strong tea. Walking out into the lounge, he said to Barty:

"Well, I got my strong tea."

_**So, how was that? Let me know what you think!**_

_**Thanks for reading!**_

_**SnazzyPiLock**_


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